It’s not unusual for a Dom to withhold the thing most essential to the being of his servant, slave or sub — wherever they slot in along the sub-o-meter, and whatever the agreement between they and their master — the concept of denial is one of the basic tools of torture that a master has at his or her disposal.

My master deprived me of my words. The essence of my being. Not my written words — thank god, that would have been a safeword-inducing occurrence — but my spoken words. It was a highly unusual situation for me. But, as ever, I was happy to fulfill his wishes — happy to please him. My goal was — is — to make him happy. ‘Nuff said.

It did not change, help or hinder the outcome. Never before have i been simultaneously satisfied, denied, spaced-out, focused, aroused, in pain, and utterly, totally fucked. I tingle all over, still, inside and out. I couldn’t do enough for him — I’m not sure that I even did.

At one point, i lay supine — at his behest, of course — while his hand explored my cunt, and his mouth nuzzled and nibbled at my breast… not the traditional position for a sub, although god knows I am not complaining. It was wonderful. I was owned. Possessed. His fucktoy. His slut. And yet I felt — how should I phrase it? Cherished? Kinda. Needed? Maybe. Wanted? Definitely. As though I could lie there under his hand forever?

Hell, yeah.

He once told me that his eventual goal was to have me adore, worship and love him. It’s not as distant a goal as it once may have seemed. I worshipped him tonight, with my tactile lips, tongue, fingers on his body, and my body wherever he wanted it to be.

I came i don’t know how many times. I know i asked permission every time, except for the g-spot orgasm gushing moment — I’m still unable to control that orgasmic urge, love it though i do. Fortunately, he’d already told me to come, so the issue was neatly avoided.

At first I was deprived of my words by his command. By the end of the evening, when he permitted me to speak freely, I was hard pushed to find words to express myself. How did he manage to be so brutal and yet so tender? So dominant, and yet so sensual…

I reflected on this as we lay there recovering. I love the controlling part of him, even, to a certain extent, the cruelty that accompanies it — else why would I become his slut? — but i was unaware of and therefore all the more surprised and delighted by his sensuous and tender inclinations.

So intense an experience that I was actually speechless. He’d caused me to perpetuate the effect that he had initially ordered… if that isn’t adoration, then I don’t know what is….